When You Least Expect
by Patiencer911
Summary: After Emily comes back from Paris, she begins to realize she didn't leave Lauren Reynolds behind without harming Emily Prentiss. And the changes keep popping when they are least expected and least wanted. She's trying to learn to navigate her life as she's learning who she is now.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. I have an obsession** **with** **the characters but that's about it.**

 **AN: Never written much of anything before sooo. . . I apologize in advance.**

Emily walked through the hotel room door without looking up. She didn't want to look into the mirror the hotel had oh-so-graciously thrown directly across the entrance. After the week they'd had, she was pretty sure she looked like hell. It had been difficult enough trying to keep the others from noticing a difference, she couldn't keep it from herself. She wasn't sure what it was about this case that brought back so many memories from her days of being Lauren. It had taken a long time to get to the point where she didn't think about Doyle and those days, to where every day and moment wasn't a reminder of the awful time she had when she was undercover.

Ugh. She needed a drink and she needed to sleep. At least she hoped that recipe would lift her spirits enough to pretend she was fine on plane ride in the morning. They had to know something was up. They were FBI trained profilers after all. But she was hoping they knew her well enough to give her the space she needed to shove the awful memories way back down where they belonged. Deep. Deep. Down.

She had just managed to drop her stuff and pull a drink out of the mini bar when she heard a knock on the door. If that wasn't room service, she was gonna blow their brains out. Or at least she was pretty sure that was how this was gonna end, based on her current emotional state. Whoever it was barely waited a few seconds before knocking again, louder and faster this time.

"Whatever this is better be damn important," she whispered to herself as she set down the yet unopened bottle and walked to the door. She yanked the door open as hard as she could. "What the f-" she stopped short when she came eye to eye with Hotch.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize it was you." Her eyes fell downward, a natural response when she was feeling like this, but still one she wished she could hide.

"Um, yeah," his eyes followed a path roaming her doorframe, "I probably shouldn't have just shown up at your room like this," they finally settled on her face, while she continued to look down. She wasn't sure exactly how to place the tone of his voice but it was something she hadn't heard from him before. "I just felt like you haven't been acting quite like your normal self this week and I know we've only been on a couple dates," he was rambling, "but I really wanted to check on you, make sure you really are okay, but I also didn't want to embarrass you by asking you what's been going on in front of everyone else and anyways here I am now. Hopefully you'll let me in?"

A small grin graced her lips as she let him in without ever fully looking up at him. She wasn't sure what the grin was about. Maybe because he was just as weirded out by this situation as she was. They HAD only been on a couple dates after all. When he had asked her to dinner the first time, never cracking even the semblance of a smile, she couldn't figure out why she had said yes. Her answer had surprised even herself. But despite all of that she had a really great time at dinner that night. . . and the following night as well. Work had been interesting to say the least but the others had only recently begun to notice a difference in their relationship, even though the pair had been on five dates in the past three months, and they were hesitant to make the formal announcement. Slow and steady seemed to be their motto as she was still unsure of relationships in general and was letting him lead. And he didn't want to push her too far, too fast. Though he was pretty sure showing up unannounced at her hotel room, late at night, when it was located three floors from his own was going to decide their fate. Either it would push her far, far away from him, or right into his arms and he still wasn't sure which way it was going to be.

He set his briefcase down next to the door but didn't move to do anything else. It was kind of weird, she thought, him just standing there, watching her as she walked across the room back to the mini bar. She tossed the unopened bottle back into the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water instead. Turning around, she cracked open the bottle and leaned casually against the fridge while taking a sip. Her confidence had come back in the form of defiance as she stared him down the whole time she chugged half the bottle. She didn't mind that he had showed up, but she wasn't going to put in the work. If he had nothing to say, he shouldn't have come. And she would wait it out until he came up with something. Mercifully, it wasn't as long as she was expecting.

"I'm worried about you," he practically whispered.

The words hit her like a ton of bricks and she almost choked on the water she had been downing. Despite all of his bravado, and the ridiculous macho he put on at work, he had a softer side, a side she had only seen in their few moments outside of work. But the weight of what he had said hit her harder than she expected. All of the thoughts and feelings she had been trying to stuff away had burst their way back to the forefront of her mind. Normally she was the picture of calm, but the moment was so ridiculous and so out of character and so heartwarming and all the thoughts were so overwhelming that the tears just started coming and she couldn't hold them back. They silently started to flow as she quickly cast her head downwards.

He was next to her before she could try to blink the second tear back. Instinctually, she turned her body away from him, using her hair to hide her face. She wanted to just walk away before he could say anything else. But there was no where to go. This was her room and her place and all she had at the moment. There was no place to go and she was beginning to feel trapped. As he caressed the back of her arm, her breathing started to pick up and she jumped away from him, throwing his hand off of her as she went. She wrapped her arms around herself and sniffed the tears back, backing away and raising her head to look at him.

"I'm so sorry," he said as she backed away, "I didn't mean anything, I wasn't going to do anything."

The logic caught up to the instinct and she realized how uncalled for that reaction was. She also realized he thought she was scared he would hurt her.

"No, I know you wouldn't," she said, "I'm sorry I reacted that way, I don't. . . I don't really know what happened."

He looked quizzical for a moment before responding; "So should I be concerned about you? This case can't have been easy for you"

"Yeah? And why is that?" Her instinctive rebellion always came out at the worst time and her brain had immediately gone there. She was questioning what he thought he knew about her and how he thought he had any right to know it.

"I just. . . GOD!" He tossed his hands up slightly at he sat down on her bed and began to remove his jacket. She jumped a little at his exclamation and sudden movement, but he didn't give her much time to question it before he continued. "Why is this so fucking difficult? I don't think I've ever had such a difficult time talking to someone before. All the things I have to say slip right through my fingertips the moment I look at you."

There was a pause. She was trying to figure him out, figure out how to handle this. His suddenness had scared her a little, and she wasn't sure she was okay with that, but she sat down next to him anyways, arms still folded, hoping it would encourage him to continue. With his heart beating through his chest, he glanced at her, took a deep breath, looked forward and continued.

"The whole time you were gone, when you were in Paris, I thought about you every single day. I missed you, yeah, but I was also worried about you. I couldn't keep all these . . . pictures out of my head. I kept seeing you, with Doyle, your life riding on you pretending to be someone you weren't, pretending to be in love with someone you weren't in love with, and your whole freaking life was riding in the balance. 'How did she do it?' I would think. 'She must have been so fucking scared.' And from the moment Reid figured out what this case was about, I just couldn't stop thinking about you.

Those women were so much like you Emily. Half of them even looked exactly like you! They were young, barely starting out in life. And I know the circumstances were different since they were basically sold into freaking slavery but they were the SAME! Their ENTIRE LIVES, EVERYTHING THEY KNEW, hung on them being able to pretend to be and be in love with someone they weren't. And the last four days, all I could think about was you, and how awful it must be for you to see this, how you've probably been reliving it all week and that's probably why you've been drinking eight cups of coffee a day and sleeping for two hours. And why you've been run the most ragged by this case out of pretty much the whole team.

I've spent the whole goddamn week trying to convince myself to talk to you. 'It's okay, you guys are sort of together now, you're allowed to ask her how she's doing.' But I also didn't want to cross the line and have you mad at me for giving you 'special treatment' and so. . . here I am, at the end of the case, when you probably need me the least, but I just have to know if you're okay."

The silence was deafening as she let the last of the tears fall down her face. Neither one of them dared to look at each other. She wasn't sure what to say and didn't want him to misread the tears and he didn't want to see the expected rejection as well as hearing.

"Well for starters," she began as she loosened her grip on her arms and leaned her head on his shoulder, "I drank eight cups of coffee because I have a problem, but we already knew that." They both chuckled slightly at the sudden shift in mood.

"And second," she took a very deep and audible breathe, "I did love him. And I think that might make it worse."


	2. Chapter 2

" _And second," she took a very deep and audible breathe, "I did love him. And I think that might make it worse."_

They sat in silence, hip to hip, both facing the wall, her head on his shoulder. She wasn't necessarily crying anymore, her tear ducts felt like they had pretty much been emptied. But she wondered, not for the first time this week, why she was spending so much time crying this week. It wasn't like her. As much as the team may seem to think she was heartless, it really was just about compartmentalizing. She cried occasionally, after a long case, or when she felt the full weight of her job hit her, but she was always able to hold it together until she had gotten away from the team and into her own personal space. So why was she crying so much more this week? And not sleeping? And why was she sitting here, literally crying on Hotch's shoulder? That was really unlike her.

Shit. Hotch. She had somehow forgotten she had dropped that bomb and then not said anything. Realization hit that she had probably just ruined any sort of relationship, even a friendship, the two of them have had. The night seemed to be going like that, drop a bomb, sit in silence, respond, sit in silence. This round of silence was not only starting worry her but it was starting to irritate her.

"I know that's a lot to drop," she started, lifting her head just slightly so she could look up at his face, trying to judge his reaction. "But please. . . say something. Even getting angry is better than spending one more moment of this awkward, uncomfortable, ridiculous evening in silence."

"I didn't know."

"That I thought this was awkward?"

"That you were in love with him, with Doyle."

"Ah," She returned her head to his shoulder. "It was . . . complicated. To say the least."

"Did you. . . I mean. . . Would you. . . "

"Did I have sleep with him?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. Tell me what it was like, being undercover like that."

"Well. . . what do you want to know?"

"I don't know. Your experiences. What it was like for you? I spend a lot of time trying to figure out what happened to you over there. What you felt. How it changed you. I want to know."

"Yeah well, me too. I wish I knew exactly how it had changed me but I'm afraid I'm still figuring it out. A lot of shit happened there. I'm honestly trying not to think about it."

"Maybe you need to think about it more."

"Yeah. . . maybe." Her heart was racing at the quick pace of the most honest conversation she had had in years. She wasn't someone to talk about her "problems" to begin with, but this was something else entirely. It was intensely personal. It was HERS. Talking about it somehow felt like a betrayal of herself. She shouldn't share it, she couldn't. If nothing else had scared him away, this shit certainly would.

It was so messed up because she was seeing a nice guy for probably the first time in her life, only now she was too fucked up to be able to have a real relationship with him. She stood up, dragging in and releasing a deep breath as she started to remove her jewelry. She needed to sleep.

"But not tonight, not right now," she said, removing her shoes and socks, and then her sweater, revealing her skin tight undershirt. Casually she walked towards the bathroom, trying to decide if the conversation was already over or if she would be hurting the situation more by heading into the shower at this exact moment. By the time she had made it to the bathroom door, extra towels in hand, he still hadn't moved from his seat on the bed.

"Do you think. . . " His question trailed off as she stood there, staring at his back.

"I don't bite Hotch. What is it?"

"I want to stay here tonight. In your room, with you. The case is over so we shouldn't have to worry about any late night wake up calls that would find us in the same bed. And we're not meeting until brunch before the flight tomorrow so we should be able to sneak down fairly easily, without the team noticing."

She was still standing in the doorway to the bathroom because the question had caught her off guard. It was true that they had been on a few dates, and yes, they had sex a couple times, but she wasn't sure that they were officially "dating." Whether or not they were dating, staying in the same bed meant sex, and that wasn't happening. She couldn't go there tonight. However, like he was reading her mind, he addressed all those questions and hesitations before she remembered she was supposed to say something.

"Nothing has to happen," he assured her hastily, "We're not moving in together. And I'm not trying to jump the next six steps of our relationship to where we're sleeping over at each other's places even when we're not having sex." He turned and looked up so he could make eye contact with her, "I'm just concerned about you. And I'd feel better if I knew you were safe, and if I knew you felt safe. And if that's not with me, that's okay too. But if it would help even a little, or if you were okay with me being here, I'd really like to stay."

Now that all those words had made their way out, He was a little scared. There was a really good chance he was making things worse for her just by being here, and an even bigger chance his little speeches tonight were only adding on to that and making her life miserable.

While he was trying to figure out how much more difficult he was making it, she was trying to size him up and decide how serious it was. Did he really want to just stay and sleep in the same bed as her? Was he really just concerned? She was an adult, she knew how relationships and guys in general worked, and that wasn't how they usually worked. She also knew that nothing about movies was real. None of it could be trusted. Because here he was in front of her, acting exactly like the love interest in a movie, and none of it was what it was supposed to be. She was supposed to be the quirky but loveable main character and his attention was supposed to make her feel good and amazing. But all she could feel was drained and sad and pathetic. All those pictures of all those moments and feelings with Doyle were still there, stuck in a never ending movie reel in the back of her head. It wasn't cute or charming. But despite all of the logical parts of her that were telling her Hotch couldn't be serious and she was going to get herself in trouble, she couldn't drown out the emotionally exhausted part of her that reminded her how awful it was to be alone when she felt like this and just how much she didn't want to do that again tonight.

All of these thoughts took place without either one of them breaking eye contact. She chewed on the side of her cheek, "No sex?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he jested while cracking a goofy grin uncharacteristic of his work personality.

"You would be so lucky to have a dream like that," She retorted, trying to keep the mood light as she turned and walk into the bathroom. "I suppose I'll see you when I get out then." And she closed the bathroom door behind herself.


	3. Chapter 3

" _You would be so lucky to have a dream like that," She retorted, trying to keep the mood light as she turned and walk into the bathroom. "I suppose I'll see you when I get out then." And she closed the bathroom door behind herself._

While the water was heating up, she slowly began to undress the remaining clothing she had on. It hit her that she had really told him they could spend the night together and she couldn't decide if she should be excited or terrified. Her brain was playing out all the ways it could go wrong, all the awkward things she could do. But then she would remind herself of just how good it would feel to have someone sleeping next to her. She would remind herself to breathe slowly. And then she would think of all the possible bad things again. This loop continued as she took her time in the shower, relishing in the soothing nature of the hot water on her sore muscles.

This case had exhausted her more than she thought it had. Or maybe it was the emotional stress. Either way, her entire body suddenly felt sore and exhausted. She couldn't wait to crawl into her bed. Her bed. Where he was waiting. Her bed where he was waiting for her, because for some reason he actually still liked her. Even though she would probably ruin that tonight. And the loop continued.

When the hot water stopped soothing, she realized it was time to get out of the shower. Too late, she also realized she had only brought in the towels and would have to walk into the room wearing only those towels. Damn. This wasn't her first choice, but she would have to make the best of it. She let herself air dry for a few moments while she took her time brushing her teeth. Finally it was time.

She opened the door and walked out slowly, not entirely sure how Hotch would react, or how she wanted him to react. Either way, she was caught off guard by the sight in front of her and stopped for a second. Apparently without access to his luggage, which she was pretty sure he had left in his own room, he had improvised. He was sitting on top of her bed in only his boxers. It wasn't like she hadn't seen him naked before, but for some reason this was more. . . intimate. He was just sitting there. So casually. It was natural, him in her bed. It seemed so normal and comforting. And his body, my god his body.

It was at the exact moment she started thinking about his body that he looked up from his reading and noticed her standing there in her towel. He grinned when he saw what she was wearing.

"That's a good look for you," he said without an ounce of sarcasm, "it might be one of my favorites."

"One of?" She raised an eyebrow, then walked to dresser at the foot of the bed and began pulling her pajama shorts and tank top out of the top drawer, mentally cursing herself for not bringing anything cuter.

"Yes, one of," He looked back down at his magazine, giving her an opportunity to dress, "there have been a handful I really liked, a few that took my breath away, and a couple that made it difficult to work."

"I'm having a hard time taking that seriously," She had finished dressing and was on to brushing her hair.

"Why?" He again looked up from his reading, this time to watch her brush her hair out while she looked in the mirror.

"You're Hotch, nothing gets to you. There's no way anything I've worn has make it difficult for you to work"

"You underestimate yourself."

"Hmmm," she hummed, mostly to herself, it wasn't a question, more just her thinking. Looking at herself in the mirror, she realized that she did, in fact, look like death, just like she had assumed when she first walked into the room tonight. After she finished brushing her hair, she set the brush on the dresser next to the TV, not bothering to put it away with her stuff and climbed on to the foot of the bed, crawling her way to the top. As she was halfway up, she realized that this was a little weird. She probably should've walked around because this was definitely awkward. Or she thought it was gonna be awkward, but then Hotch surprised her again by putting his magazine all the way on the nightstand, grabbing her by her underarms, and turning her so she was sitting on his lap with her back to his chest.

Nothing in the world had ever felt like sitting with Hotch like this. As much as she actually had been in love with Doyle, she had never felt like this with him. Hotch felt comfortable. She felt at home in his arms. And while normally the idea of being held like this would've made her feminist heart rage, tonight, with him, she was comfortable.

"When you wore that turquoise-green, skin tight dress, I thought I was gonna explode the whole day. I couldn't stop thinking about you and how I wanted you, wanted to be with you. I tried everything I could think of. Even left the office to try and work from the conference room. But I could still see you. I didn't finish one case file the whole day. It was awful."

"Ha! I wondered why you looked so shifty that day. I really loved that dress but I stained it majorly with lunch that afternoon."

He smirked as he responded, "Well it didn't stop me from wanting you in my arms all day long." Instinctively, he squeezed her tighter for a second, demonstrating his meaning.

It felt SO. GOOD. She couldn't believe she could feel so good and so awful at the same time. Maybe awful wasn't the best way to explain it. She just couldn't shake the sadness she felt behind her eyes. Truthfully, she wanted to go to sleep and hope that she would have slept the sadness off by morning. But now she was torn because this position was really comfortable and she felt good.

Like he could read her mind, again, he asked, "Shall we crawl under the covers and sleep this awful case off a little bit?"

She turned to face him before responding with a grin, "It's like you read my mind." And she rolled off the right side of the bed while he got off on the other side and began pulling the covers all the way down. They both climbed in and she pulled the covers up. He surprised her by gently wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him till they were spooning. She surprised herself by wiggling herself even closer before closing her eyes and hoping for dreams instead of nightmares just for tonight.


End file.
